


O Christmas Tree

by ETraytin



Category: The West Wing
Genre: Cause it's coming, Christmas, Christmas Fluff, Discussion of Long-Term Illness, Expect more of it, F/M, Tumblr Prompt, post-administration
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-19
Updated: 2016-12-19
Packaged: 2018-09-09 17:17:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,635
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8901541
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ETraytin/pseuds/ETraytin
Summary: Jed and Abbey, at home in Manchester, having an involved discussion on Christmas trees, pickup trucks, and times when a man stands up.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Hi everybody! This is a prompt for Anonymous on Tumblr, who said: "Jed Bartlet makes my loins go weak It'd be great if you'd write some Jed/Abbey fics (angst, fluff, anything)." Now I don't take responsibility for the condition of anybody's loins, but here's some Christmas fluff for Jed and Abbey that I hope fits the bill. 
> 
> As we come up on the holiday I plan to write at least a couple more Christmas pieces, so if you've got a prompt (or sent me in a Christmas prompt a long time ago that I've probably forgotten) now's the time!

“Where the hell have you been? You said you were going for a little walk!” 

“It's my own backyard, Abigail! A man is entitled to take a little spin around his own backyard without facing a Congressional inquiry about it upon his return. And I'm fine, look!” Jed waved his arms and did a little two-step to prove his fitness. 

“Most men don't have ten acres in their backyards, Jethro,” Abbey pointed out, leaning against the porch rail and giving him a look of deep annoyance. “And the next time you compare me to Congress, you're sleeping on the sofa. Now come inside and get warmed up.” 

“Most men also don't have a secret service agent following them around on their backyard walks,” Jed muttered, but meekly followed Abbey into the kitchen of their Manchester farmhouse. He grimaced when she poured him hot tea instead of coffee, but accepted that too, partly from shrewd political instincts, partly because his hands really were freezing. “And I will point out that your excessive concern about my little ramble has prevented me from sharing my good news with you.” 

She gave him a look that was unflatteringly skeptical. “Oh?” 

Jed sipped his tea. “No, no, I believe the ship has sailed on that. I'll just keep this fascinating little tidbit to myself.” He smiled into his mug at the aggravated noise she made. It would've been a very satisfying moment of victory, except that it meant he couldn't share his findings. He waited for a minute, hoping she would try and prod him for information, but his wife was a canny strategist in her own right. Instead of engaging, she turned back to the rolled sugar cookies she was pressing into snowflake and candy cane shapes. She seemed perfectly content to do that all day. He took another sip of his tea, shifted in his chair, and cracked like an egg. “You'll be happy to know that I have found a stand of young pine trees in the back corner of the property.” 

Abbey turned to give him a raised eyebrow. “Well, that's very exciting,” she replied, her voice clearly conveying she didn't understand what he found so compelling. 

“For Christmas trees,” he exclaimed impatiently. “On our own property! When the girls and their families come out for the holiday, we'll tromp out to our own words, to this protected stand of trees that have been growing unseen and unnoticed since we left for Washington, and we'll harvest the best of them, dragging it back to the house and decorating it, just as our forefathers did!” 

She gave him an exasperated look. “Jed, we're going to the Christmas tree farm in Bethlehem with Liz and the kids. We worked it out weeks ago. There's a horse-drawn wagon to take everyone out to the trees, and once we find the one we like and cut it down, they'll drive it back on a four-wheeler, shake it, bale it, and attach it to our cars while we're shopping. It's like tradition, but so much better.” 

Jed grimaced. “I remember that place, sixty dollars for a dead tree, it's highway robbery,” he muttered. 

“You're contributing to the local economy,” Abbey cajoled. “Gus really wants to ride the wagon, and we can get a picture of Patty with Santa Claus.” 

“We have a horse!” Jed declared, “and I'm sure we can find something for him to pull. There's all kinds of things in the back barn we've never even looked at.” 

“We have Ellie's twenty-two-year-old horse and a pile of rusty farm equipment,” Abby summarized. “Very picturesque. Come on, Jed, you like Christmas tree hunting at the tree farm. They've got that firepit for marshmallows and you can buttonhole some poor worker and explain the history of yuletide celebrations to them.” 

Jed gave her an unamused look. “They never listen anyway. Besides,” he subsided into a mutter, “you'll make me take along that damn chair.” 

Abbey looked over at him, raising her eyebrows. “Hmm?” 

“The damn chair!” he said, much louder. “Like you did at the Foliage Festival and the Pumpkin Harvest and the Balloon Fair. Any time we go someplace that requires more than twenty minutes of standing, as though I'm an invalid to be hauled around like a piece of rolling luggage. I haven't had a serious relapse since I left the White House, and yet you continue harping on me as though I just got out of bed! I can judge my own capacity, I can take a walk around my own property, and if we do go to this tree farm nonsense, I can walk around without needing the wheelchair!” 

She stared at him. “I'm thinking about driving the pickup truck to the tree farm.” 

“What?” Jed was momentarily derailed. He knew it was some kind of tactic, but that was Abbey's special rhetorical power over him. “Liz's old pickup? You can't take that, we haven't even taken it off the property in years.” 

“No, I think I'm going to,” she insisted. “I was driving it the other day while we were picking up branches, and it seemed just fine. It's only an hour to the tree farm, and it'll be much easier to get a tree into it.” 

“You're absolutely not taking the truck!” Jed informed her, setting his mug down with a thump. “The last time anybody took the truck on the interstate, it popped out of gear at sixty-five and glided to a gentle stop in the middle of traffic! Charlie and Zoey had to hitchhike home with the Secret Service!” 

“That was a one-time thing. It's fine when I'm going twenty-five.” 

“The stress on the engine at twenty-five is nothing like what it is at highway speed!” Jed saw the trap all at once, but it was too late to avoid falling into it. He glared at her instead. 

To her credit, he supposed, she looked concerned rather than smug. “You've been going twenty-five since you left the White House, Jed, but it's only because I've been riding your brake pedal. At twenty-five, you're fine. You're healthier now than I've seen you in years. But if you start trying to go at highway speed again, you're going to throw a rod.” 

“You don't even know what that means,” he accused with a half-smile. 

“I know it's bad,” she retorted. “And you know I'm right. If you had your way, you'd have walked the length and breadth of every one of those festivals, because you're a born politician and after thirty-five years you have no idea how to turn it off. Fatigue can trigger a relapse, and any relapse could be one that causes damage that doesn't go away.” She pushed away from the counter and sat next to him at the table, taking his hands. “I finally have you back, Jed. Don't be mad that I want to keep you as long as I can.” 

He was silent for a minute, turning his hands in hers to squeeze them back. “Ah, Abbey, you worry too much.” She bridled and made to pull away, but he held on tight. “Which, I will grant, may be the only reason I'm alive today. I have been known, very rarely, I might add, and by sources that might not be entirely credible, to push myself beyond the boundaries of my own stamina. And while I maintain that any such instances were very much required and in the service of my country, there is a possible counterargument that may be made to say that the Milford Pumpkin Harvest Festival, as vital as it may be, is not one of those required instances.” 

Abbey sat back, regarding him with fond exasperation. “Swear to god, Jed, you never use one word when ten would do.” 

“And it made me the president!” he agreed complacently. “I don't want to use the wheelchair, sweetheart.” 

“I don't want you out walking too much in the cold,” she countered. 

“Carriage ride and thirty minutes of walking, then I sit down in a regular chair for a little while,” he offered. 

“No pulling the tree, and you're bundled up. Wearing a damn hat won't kill you, you know.” 

“A baseball cap, none of that woolen garbage.” 

“I'm getting you a Notre Dame stocking cap for Christmas. I'll give it to you early.” 

He nodded brusquely. “Deal. But you're missing out on these trees, I swear. You're not going to see natural pine like this on any tree farm.” 

She laughed and pulled away, standing back up to go back to her cookies. “Wait till you get your old gang back together next weekend. If you can get CJ and the boys to chop you down a tree and drag it all the way back here, we'll put it up on the sun porch.” 

“Oh, they'll do it,” he said with great confidence. “I'm a very powerful man, you know.” Rising, he wrapped his arms around her from behind and nuzzled her ear. “It takes a lot to keep me in check.” 

“I'll say,” she agreed with a chuckle, leaning back into his embrace.

“I'm still a little cold, you know,” he offered. “And I should probably be laying down. My doctor says so.” 

She turned in his embrace, put a playful hand on his forehead, then slid it down his cheek to cup his jaw. “Shower first,” she advised him. “You've got pine needles in your hair. Then maybe I'll see what I've got in my little doctor bag for you.” 

“Hot damn!” He leaned in and kissed her, stifling her laugh. “Maybe I should go hiking more often.” 

“Jackass,” She pushed him off her, laughing as she turned back to her work. Jed whistled as he walked upstairs. Maybe a tree farm wasn't so bad.


End file.
